


Eye of the Shutterbug

by TheWildBunny



Category: BioShock
Genre: M/M, Tags May Change, dumb fluff, pre-game, top bant with The Lads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9255719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWildBunny/pseuds/TheWildBunny
Summary: It is never the first thing one notices, when entering the apartment, but a permanent fixture nevertheless. Photographs adorn the dark hallways, memories of places and people left behind on the surface. Certainly, they have been chosen with care, when one descended at first, but lately they gather layers of dust; they have become as much of an unremarkable part of the wall as the wallpaper.A series of vignettes based off of the photographs hanging in Cohen's Mercury Suites Apartment.





	1. Fig 1. A House By The Seaside Before The War

 

“Andrei, halt!”

 

Even though they are not more than a few metres away from each other, Sander’s call almost gets swallowed in the wind. Andrew stops and turns around, hand shielding his eyes, to see him fidgeting with his camera, the black hair that is so usually pomaded into place being gently tossed about in the wind, sun still bearing down on both of them. Andrew feels a wry smile creep across his face as Sander seems to be cleaning the lens with his sleeve, grimacing in concentration in a manner that is almost endearing. However he has grown so fond of this odd little man is beyond him, but he feels himself puff out his chest in anticipation of the photograph.

The sun is outlining him in golden rays, and if Andrew had any artistic aptitude at all, he would put that on film or on canvas or whatever. As it is now, however, he just feels that it was the right choice to go up here on a little business trip, and for all it was worth, they _have_ talked business; the house has great potential as an exhibition or gallery venue. Of course, business isn’t exactly his first though as Sander finally seems to get the lens to his standards and looks up, meeting his eyes.

 

“Oh no, you’re in the way, move a bit to the left will you? Your left.”

Andrew blinks a couple of times, unsure he has heard him right with the variable wind. “I’m sorry?”

Sander laughs and his face lights up in a smile as he yells enthusiastically, a gust of wind carrying his colourful tie about, “you are beautiful, darling, but I need a photograph of the house!”

 

A little offended huff makes it to his lips as Sander waves him away from his focus. It is fair, all in all, the camera had been going the entire weekend, he had just gotten used to being the subject. Andrew saunters back to see what view it is that Sander is so intently trying to capture. It is just the house. The sun is on it, but that is it as far as anything of interest goes. After a few, presumably precise, clicks of the shutter, he seems satisfied.

“What is it that you find so interesting about it? There are many others like it out here.”

A small jolt of tension seems to go through Sander, as if someone has just raised his hand to hit him.

“Tch, it is not what it _is_ but what it _represents_. An emotion, a memory I can preserve in a frame-“ He stops and scoffs in a way that feels a bit patronizing. “You don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to either, you see explaining a piece can ruin it. Maybe the photograph will make you feel the same, maybe it will not, we will see. Who knows! Perhaps I will hate it, perhaps I will never show it to you.”

His speech trails off defiantly and leaves them stranded in strained silence for a few moments, Andrew looking out at the sea, Sander fitting the camera back into its case by the sound of it. The wind is cold when he is standing here at the water’s edge, but he knows better than to put his jacket back on; he can feel the dark fabric absorb the sun’s dying rays even now.

 

“Ah, a personal piece.” In his experience, Cohen will gladly boast and talk at length about his influences, his inspiration, his muse, all he has put into something to make it _great_. Anything for the public eye must be able to be explained, dissected, analyzed, torn apart. Putting too much of yourself out there is a grave danger. Like Andrew, he puts so much into upholding an appearance, perhaps that is why they have found themselves so comfortable around each other.

“Yes.” Sander seems a bit baffled by the sound of it, and he can feel his eyes on him but he does not turn to meet them. Either the man thinks him a wall street idiot with a mind full of maths and no emotion, or he has learnt to expect absolutely nothing of anyone. Perhaps it is more of a confession than Andrew thought at first. He joins him at the water’s edge, staring into the horizon. The silence grows more comfortable, the sound of the waves filling it out nicely as they figure out what to do with themselves. They will get back to their proper lives soon enough, there is no reason to have it bleed through too much out here.

 

Andrew sighs deeply and looks over at Sander, messy hair and knitted brows, who is already looking at him, probably because he just broke the silence.

“It will grow dark soon, we should continue on our way.”

“Of course.”

They continue their stroll. There is an expectation to the silence.

 

“If you would not hate for me to do so, I would like to see that photograph when it is done.”

Sander smiles a broad smile that reaches his eyes as he nods. He kisses him on the cheek as he leans against him, and Andrew feels his chest growing quite warm. Like a pair of children, they walk hand in hand the rest of the way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photo has been extracted by me from the game texture for the whole of them.
> 
> It is highly doubtful that there was much intentional thought or backstory put into the images on Cohen's walls outside fitting a general aesthetic, but listen that doesn't stop me from having in depth thoughts about every. single. one. Tag'll be updated as I work through them, of course, and thank you for reading!! Shoutout to Ace & Em for putting up with me yelling about said photographs and reading this through with a critical eye.


	2. Fig 2. A Man Walking Along The Coast With The Sun In His Eyes

“You know he’s still got that pic of you, Martin? I make sure to dust it off real nice every time I visit.”

The company of the other three had been relatively unobtrusive so far. It was probably helped by the open bar, and the fact that the new kid had been dragged out for once; it helped divide the attention a bit better. Martin snorted and looked away from the fish he’d found himself staring at, right into the squinty eyes and wide smile of Silas Cobb. The man always looked like he could use a punch to the face, though to his credit, he was a fair fighter. Martin raised his eyebrows in response, the bare minimum acknowledgement needed to give a pause to think of a great insult in return.

 

Little Fitzpatrick decided to take that pleasure away from him, making a gasp in surprise at Cobb’s statement, leaning over the table at Martin.

“Oh that’s you! I’d hardly recognized you, you look so- Uh.” His brows knitted in concentration, and from the flush on his face, and the low snigger coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Hector, it was a good bet that he’d been drowning his sorrows ever since someone, probably Cobb, had whisked him away from the actual soirée and over to their own little corner of suffering. From the sound of the conversation, seemed he was still convinced Sander would be coming back to fetch him ever since he had gone off with Mr. Ryan.

“Miserable?” Martin offered with a scoff for emphasis, some part of him equally insulted and impressed that Fitzpatrick had managed to identify exactly who and what photograph they were talking about.

“Oh- Oh no, I thought more..” While his statement seemed to have thrown the kid off just a bit, it also seemed with that it was with earnestness that Fitzpatrick now tried to reorganize his thoughts, almost squinting in concentration.

“Well,  _ poetic _ , you know, or, or thoughtful! You look like you were having an inspirational walk, you know, becoming inspired, the muse bending-“

“I had the hangover of a century and the fucking sun was in my eyes.” Jesus Christ in heaven, how long had Sander had this one around again? He had even been gesturing theatrically with his hands as he had spoken, and as far as Martin knew, not one godforsaken reason to do so.

A soft and apologetic “oh,” left Fitzpatrick’s lips and he slid back down into his seat under Martin’s glare, taking now to looking into his, helpfully refilled, glass.

 

“Could’ve just been respoooonsible like  _ some _ of us and never slept.” Hector was tapping his chin in a knowing manner, with a very self-satisfied smile that did not betray to anyone else that  _ he _ had spent that fateful morning in an awful haze, only vaguely coming round when they were in the air and then suffering the consequences on the boat. But there was no need to rake Hector over the coals. Not now at least, he’d rather not retread that entire day.

“It was the last time I saw the sun and I spent all of it avoiding it, ridiculous,” he mumbled, more to himself than to continue the discussion.

His headache had been numbing, it had been Sander’s idea to have a spot of fresh air; something had been incredibly  _ off _ with him that day. He had been so utterly devoted to the project topside, and even after they descended and most of the lot of them had been struck between awe and more than a bit of terror, as the sea closed above them; he had shown no mixed feelings, as chipper as he had been when they had walked along the coast.

Martin had barely been listening to him lay out his plans in detail as they ambled along; head turned down to watch his own feet and try to mitigate the biting light of the horrible hateful orb in the sky. He had not realized the picture was being taken, before he heard the telltale ‘click’ of the shutter. Sander had said he’d looked ‘poetic’ as well, but it was with none of the wide-eyed earnestness of Fitzpatrick. He should have just punched him, really, he’d deserved that at the time. Next time Martin visited that apartment, he would make sure to take the photograph with him and dispose of it, finally.

He got used to it, eventually, being a literal ocean removed from the world. It was weird to consider Rapture in more than a passing thought, now that it was his every day, and frankly, he tried to avoid doing so. Everything was fine as long as he just stayed to his own affairs and did his own work, and there was plenty of that to do. The freedom to create hadn’t been a lie.

 

"Speaking of photographs.. Does anyone know who that guy is he's got two of?"

"What're you jealous, little Fitz?"

"No! I just noticed them, it-it's weird,” he raised his hands to underline the point, framing Cobb’s face, “the composition's all different, you see?"

"How much fucking time have you spent looking at Cohen's walls, shitting Christ."

Fitzpatrick’s arms dropped down immediately and he made an offended huff.

"Listen I'm over there pretty often lately, I need to practice-"

"Practice what? Anatomy?"

" _ Piano. _ There's something weird going on with the one in fleet hall so-"

"Your generous mentor decided to let you put your hands to different use, we got it, yeah, we've got it, spare us the details."

“Oh  _ fuck off _ ,” Fitzpatrick hissed angrily, to just about everyone at the table’s surprise; Cobb was, at the very least, lost for words for a moment.

 

"I can't believe you're screwing the boss, kid. So unprofessional," Martin grumbled into his pint to break the silence. The absolute open-mouthed look of betrayal on Fitzpatrick’s face was more than worth it.

“I am not!!” Each syllable almost a wheeze. The fact that his face had somehow managed to get  _ redder _ , was impressive entirely on its own. Hector saw his chance and slung his arm around the shoulders of Fitzpatrick, sighing melodramatically,

“Truly, this indecency cannot last for long, you must realize, darling Fitzpatrick! Where would we be if we all just followed our animal whims, oh no, it would be true Mahagonny-!”

Cobb laughed heartily, as if Martin hadn't met him bleary eyed and still in Cohen's bed the first time he’d ever seen him.

 

“Yeah, why d’you think he’s kept us on for this long? We know how to be  _ professional _ .”

“Professional!” Fitzpatrick hissed, stubbornly getting out from Hector’s arm, “why are  _ you _ always there, then!”

Cobb shrugged nonchalantly.

“I told ya, I’ve been dusting off Martin’s photograph.”

 

Martin scoffed and leaned back into his seat, looking out at the sea again. Continued protests faded into the background, as the soft neon lights in the darkness provided distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a thanks to Em for reading this over for me and letting me nick some of their Martin Finnegan thoughts.


End file.
